Chapter 8 - The Blizzard at St. Jude’s
By 8:00 p.m., the storm had developed into a full-scale regional blizzard.
Chicago was buried under eight inches of drifting snow, the streets nearly deserted as emergency travel advisories flashed across every television channel in the city.
Victor stood in the dimly lit hallway of the third-floor private isolation unit at St. Mary's Pediatric Extended Care Facility in Evanston—a quiet, specialized medical sanctuary three miles north of the city limits.
He was alone. No security guards. No lieutenants. No weapons.
He wore a plain black wool sweater, dark trousers, and a heavy winter coat that smelled only of the clean snow outside.
At the far end of the quiet corridor, behind a glass window looking into a dimly lit recovery room, sat Nora.
She was rocking a gentle wooden chair, holding Leo against her chest while Mia lay resting in an incubator beside her. The soft, rhythmic beep-beep-beep of the heart monitors echoed gently through the quiet room.
Victor walked slowly down the hallway, stopping outside the glass door.
Nora didn't look up immediately. She continued to gently pat Leo’s back, her lips moving in a quiet, wordless lullaby that she had sung to the children every night since they were brought home from the hospital.
Finally, she turned her head.
Her hazel eyes met his through the double-pane glass.
She didn't scream. She didn't panic. She simply set Leo down gently in his bassinet, adjusted the blanket over his tiny shoulders, and walked toward the door.
She stepped out into the quiet hallway, closing the glass door behind her to keep the warm air inside the room.
"You found us," Nora said softly, leaning her back against the glass frame, her hands tucked into the pockets of her blue cardigan.
"You left the medical monitor signal linked to Dr. Vance's emergency server, Nora," Victor said quietly, his voice lower and softer than she had ever heard it before. "You knew I would check the pediatric registry after I cleared Sylvia out."
Nora offered a faint, sad smile. "I knew you were smart enough to figure it out eventually, Victor."
Victor stood six feet away from her, his hands hanging loosely at his sides.
"I sent Sylvia away," Victor said smoothly. "She's on a plane to Europe. She'll never return to Chicago."
Nora shook her head softly, dark strands of hair loose around her pale face. "I don't care about Sylvia, Victor. I told you on the video... Sylvia was just a symptom of a husband who was already absent."
Victor took one slow, hesitant step forward, stopping three feet from her.
May you like
"I watched the video, Nora," Victor whispered, his throat tightening as he looked into her exhausted face. "Every word of it."
Nora’s expression didn't change, but her eyes glistened with unshed tears in the dim fluorescent light of the hallway. "Then you know why I can never go back to that penthouse."
